Goodnight, Sweetheart
by whisper-wish
Summary: When you stalk someone who must die, do you kill them so that 'sleep' comes quicker? But what power does love have to hold the inevitable Death back? And what must we sacrifice in order to protect the ones we love but cannot have? Twilight spinoff, R
1. Revenge of the Gods

DISCLAIMER: I only own Joy & Ambrose & Shanra & Mrs. Hamzie. Not any Twilight characters )

**Chapter One: Revenge of the Gods**

I never saw her coming.

She was a tiny girl; that was one sure thing. Nonetheless, there was some sort of certainty about her; like she was determined to survive the night. I rarely saw that in a person. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line as she tottered forwards precauciously, fragile neck exposed to to the chill and the bite of the night. She turned, and her eyes found me. I stood still. They were human eyes, filled to the brin with fear, and yet, perseverance burnt on. The girl wavered, wondering whether to ask why I was hiding behind a pot plant, and then turned to continue on her own way.

That was exactly what I wanted ... and what I didn't want. Her scent wafted over me temptingly, and I could almost imagine it. Hot red blood, flowing freely down my throat, quenching that insatiable thirst. And how it would taste! - my mind burnt with the invisible sensation. Beautiful, creamy blood pouring against my tainted lips, smooth and rid of all impurities, freeing my soul of it's human restraints. My body strained against my will; I could feel that every muscle was tensed, ready for the strike. Within the moments, the agonizing seconds, it took that little girl to totter to the curb of the road, schoolbag slung over her slight shoulders, I had calculated how long it would take me to move in, how silently and swiftly I could skid across the burnt-out pavement. I slavered; you had no idea how much I dragged myself back.

Finally, the girl was gone. But her scent wasn't. It still lingered hesitantly in the air, a sweet aroma – imagine the most wondrous bouquet of flowers, and that heaven-touched scent that leave behind, and you'll get the picture. Even then, I could still pick up her trail. She was a fool, alright, leaving a clear path of footprints as she weaved in and out of the snow on her way home. I forced myself back, drawing blood from the crescent moon scars on my palm, where I'd dug my nails in to restrain myself before. I licked them thoughtfully, but the metallic taste was repulsive.

It was a bittersweet revenge of the gods.

OoOoOoO

Two days passed in rapid succesion. Human life was so fast, so fickle. But I should've learnt not to think poorly of humans, for they would always bite back. Sure enough, on the third mundane day, I smelt that overwhelming aroma of blood. And this time, it beckoned with a honey-coated voice, dripping sugar and candy.

The girl was accompanied by friends, all of them wrapped up warmly for winter. London was cold, after all. I, who had barely slept, and spent the nights stalking every shadow and every ray of light that plagued me, followed silently. The girl chattered easily, and it only dawned upon me then on how young she looked – she could barely be past ninth grade. Yet, I took her life for granted. She walked; I followed. I caught snippets of the conversation on the way.

"Shanra," said my unsuspecting victim, "did you do your French oral script?"

"Yeah, I did." Shanra grinned back; she was a dark-skinned girl, who smelt of French lavender, "I guess _you _didn't though, Joy?"

A bitter smirk twisted my features; _Joy. _What a typical human name, a mockery of the fate that might soon befall her. I'd make sure she lived up to it. That was, she would give a vampire plenty of _joy _in her final hours, squirming and shrieking with pain. _That _would be enjoyable. I wanted to see her go, and see her go slowly.

"Yeah, I didn't," Joy said fretfully, "Reckon our teacher's going to blow it?"

_I would, _I commented mentally. Neither of them responded; I wouldn't expect them to.

The bell tolled, a slow, mournful sound, like the requiem for my death – so many centuries ago, I had lost count. Joy turned, sending wafts of scent my way; I wrinkled my nose, and forced myself back, furious at having walked so close to her. Still, her hold over me was overwhelming. I turned, and hustled away as quickly as I could. The snow crunched underfoot, and I did my best to concentrate on that sound rather than Joy and Shanra's voices.

It was easier said then done. Soon, all I could hear was the fierce crunch of grains of snow scraping against once another, infinte particles in a web of ice, of cold nothingness ... My head spun, and I glanced up. To my horror, I found I had made no progress in moving _away _from Joy. Instead, I was right outside her principal's office. Dimly, I recalled the sound of crunching ice echoing in my mind; the sound must've disguised my body's true intentions.

For a moment, I stood and stared. The paintwork was chipping off, but the sign declaring 'Mrs. Hamzie', Principal of Hetlock High School, looked like it was frequently buffed. On the far corner of the door, someone had scraped off the paint with something blunt, and graffitied an image of an ugly woman, eyes bulging, accompanied with the caption '_look me noobs im zoooo awsum lol_'. I wrinkled my nose in distaste.

At that exact moment, Mrs. Hamzie decided it was time to make an appearance. She threw the door open forcibly, sending a cool gust of wind my way. Papers and posters tacked to the wall by dried up blu tack fluttered and then settled. The woman herself was just like her caricature – eyes that looked like they were about to explode out of her head any moment, wrinkled flesh that bulged in all the wrong places, and flyaway hair. She had a stack of neat folders in one hand, and I could just imagine her going over them gleefully with a red pen.

The principal met my eyes. Her greying skin took on a slight hue of pink, like she had sunbathed too long – a sight I definitely didn't wish to see – and her gaze slowly travelled up and down me. I knew what she saw. I knew what all people saw when they saw vampires. I caught sight of my reflection in her eyes, stretched to a width I never would have imagined possible. The only thing that disturbed me was my white skin, pale as marble. I waited.

Finally, Mrs. Hamzie spoke, sounding a little out of breath.

"Good morning, Mr ...?" her eyebrows arced up in a crude imitation of a question mark.

"That won't be necessary." I said, speaking with more force than an average human would've deemed necessary. I tried a smile; apparently, it worked, for the woman went pale, swooning. "Please, just call me Ambrose."

"Very well then, Ambrose." Mrs. Hamzie said; from the way she said my name, I could hear a hint of breathless longing in it, "Might I req ... be. .. ask what is your business here?"

She winced, and flushed. I imitated her previous expression; I arced an eyebrow neatly, and the principal went red. _Score one to me, Carlisle, _I said, remembering the man who had helped me through some of the most difficult stages of my life, _I saw blood rush to someone's face and did nothing. _Still, that simple action amounted to nothing. Mrs. Hamzie's blood was as dried up as her body.

"I- I was just w-wondering," the principal blustered, "I-If you'd ... pre. .. like to request a job here?"

I paused, and in that moment alone, my instincts took over. Bloodlust, the need to trap several dozen students in a stuffy classroom with the A/C broken overwhelmed me. I could picture that blood-filled girl, Joy, sitting at the back of my class, providing me joy alone by merely letting her delicious scent waft towards me. Granted, the students would be alarmed by a slavering teacher who dug his nails in every second moment, but it would be worth it. A life on animals was ... no life at all. _Sorry, Carlisle, _I added silently.

"That sounds appealing. Would you like to see a resume?"

Something about me seemed to have hypnotized Mrs. Hamzie. While she had been staring at my chest, which was at her face-level, she had been spaced out. Now she snapped out of it, shaking her head vigorously. She was still quite red. She didn't have to seem to have heard my question either, which bugged me. She glanced up at my face dazedly, and then dragged her eyes away once more.

"No, that won't be necessary. I can see ... I know you'll be a good teacher." the principal mumbled, abashed. "Would you like to choose a specific position ... y'know, teachership – ah! I mean, a specific teaching post?"

" I'd," I began slowly, "I'd like to interact with students as much as possible. Yes, that would be good."

"That can certainly be arranged, Ambrose!" Mrs. Hamzie said briskly, all business once more.

She dug in her laminated folders, and I watched. The Principal seemed to have no end to the amount of work piled upon her; old homework sheets, notices, reports, and complaints from staff, students and street-savvy parents alike came roiling out off that sea of paper. I picked up the sheets that fell, and she accepted them willingly, all too happy to brush my hand with hers. Finally, she thrust a handful of forms my way.

'_Homeroom Teacher for 10-A' _the notice proclaimed, _'Job Specifications: taking care of year ten students and their welfare, seeing to conflict between pupils, organizing activities, spending long time in proximity to hormonal teenagers, issuing notices, collecting homework'_. Grade ten ... that wasn't the grade Joy was in, I was sure. That was good. That was better than having to slave away in front of her, determined not to launch myself at her.

"I'll take it." I said, with more determination than I had right to, "Is there anything else?"

"Well," Mrs. Hamzie chuckled, returning to her sunbathing overdose color, "there _is _one other teensy-tiny thing."

She paused, teeter-tottering on the edge of revelation. I turned to her, ducking my head in an unaffected manner so my eyes connected directly with hers. For a moment, the chocolate-brown of my eyes bored into her watery grey eyes. She had no resistance.

"Homeroom teacher ... is not enough, is it? No, we have several roles that need to be filled ..."

"_Sacre bleu," _I added quietly; a little bit of French always went down nicely. "It must be difficult for you." Flattery worked, as well.

"But of course!" Mrs. Hamzie exploded, and I took the smallest of steps backwards, "We need a French teacher for 10-A also! That would be a brilliant idea, don't you think? Spending more time in close proximity to your _favorite _pupils..."

She dragged the word 'favorite' out like it was a song, and I winced; her shrill voice was far too loud for my ears. Correction; my vampire ears. The elderly woman didn't notice, though, and went babbling on excitedly, thrusting form after form my way. It was sheer genius I'd made my way into the school, recieved a teaching post without any true application -for once, it seemed, the vamprie looks helped – and found myself packed into a place where I could relish, but not taste. I was good at control.

This was every vampire's dream come true. A strong-willed vampire's dream, anyway.

OoOoO

Liking it so far? I know, Joy hasn't come majorly into the story, but nyeeeh. Mrs. Hamzie will _not_ be majorly featured unless she's to be mocked; don't worry about that. Well, please R&R!


	2. NightJoy

Notes:

This is sort of a quick, two/three-page drabble-ish chapter for Joy's formal introduction. Sorry about the shortness of it all, but my head is spinning. I can relate to how Ambrose feels. Make sure to read and review!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything out of Twilight. I do use the vampire concept, though.

OoOoO

**Chapter Two: Night-Joy**

"_He's _our form teacher!? I knew Principal-Hag would choose a twenty-something handsome man..."

_Twenty-seven, twenty-something? _I thought sarcastically, _try around four-hundred and seventy, but yeah, close enough._

Upraised voices greeted me as soon as I pushed open the form room door. It was the classroom I had anticipated in my half-awake, half-asleeep fantasies; somewhat shabby, the airconditioner broken and cracked in one corner, and colorful posters dangling from the wall. And better yet – students, their flesh warm in the stuffy classroom, reeking of life and vitality. Mrs. Hamzie adressed her pupils with the face I associated with grim cheeriness, while I stood in the corner, glancing around the room.

"Sir. _Sir!"_

The call came all too soon. The formal title felt even stranger. I turned, and smelt the flavorless scent of average blood call me. That, I could withstand – it was nothing more than a dull pulse, quickening here and there. Shanra stood inches from her, her dark-skinned face determined. She might've been pretty, but years of gradual exposure to fear and confusion had turned her angled features boyish. She waved a hand roughly in my face. The class didn't titter, however; Shanra seemed something of an outcast.

"What is it, Miss ... ?" I trailed off.

"Are you going to commence class?"

"Sure." I said flatly, and walked to my desk. It was another shoddy piece of human architecture. "10-A, please sit."

They did so, in one fluid motion. I, on the other hand, was forced to remain standing, in my suit and tie. It felt especially awkward, posing as one of those ludicrous humans who actually _enjoyed _close proximity to their own kind ... My lips curled back in an involuntary snarl, and the majority of the class sat up, dazzled. Apparently, they had mistaken my momentary annoyance for a rare smile from the new teacher. I decided I might as well make a good impression on them.

"I'm Ambrose. Just call me that." I said.

There were a few nervous titters, and some person called out 'Nice to meet you, Ambrose!'. I attempted a vague smile in that person's direction . Shanra slunk back to her seat, looking somewhat resentful. I didn't follow her with my eyes, but I saw the blush of rejected love on her cheeks.

"I suppose I ought to attempt to understand you hum ... students better." I rumbled.

The class murmured my words back, reassuring me it would be alright that I sat down and they talked among themselves. I did so, pretending to scan the roll – meaningless name upon meaningless name, strange human titles that never lasted – while the classes voices slowly grew to a crescendo. My students were unusually well-disclipined. It could almost be a symphony, an orchestration of the power a teacher held over the class.

And then, came the subtlest whisper. I mentally cursed the foresight of the gods to have cursed me with this inhuman sensitivity, this ability to percieve, to smell, to hear, to _know _everything and absolutely everything about everyone around me. I glanced up, trying to detect where the whisper had come from. My eyes lingered briefly on the bowed head of a blonde girl, her honey-colored locks falling over her head. But in that instant, I could smell the reek of omens and death growing ever closer to her.

She glanced up, and that tantalizingly familiar aroma drifted towards me. My composure melted away, and I scrabbled almost wildly for the roll, and flipped through the wad of white paper. Sure enough, there it was – her name, written in the previous teacher's slanting, thin script; _Joy _Hoffman. Joy, her scent growing more powerful by the moment, blinked at me, and her emotions swarmed through me; confusion, but a cheery goodwill that stank of humanity.

Then and there I resolved to avoid her at all costs.

OoOoO

"Sir ... Sir?"

I glanced up at the soft bell that rang through the day, and then flinched away instinctively. Joy and Shanra were back. Shanra's face was set into a cold mask of fury, but Joy smiled awkwardly at me. I forced a pair of professor-like glasses I had found in an opportuinity shop somewhere in the city. I forced myself to smile, despite the automatic close down of my lungs. I hoped I _looked _like I was still alive.

"What is it, Shanra?" I said through gritted teeth.

"It was Joy's question." Shanra said automatically.

"Very well then." I said, fixating my glance on a point over Joy's head, "What did you want?"

"I ... I just," Joy looked more alarmed than I felt, and her emotions and scent mingled in an irresistible flavor. I gritted my teeth, grinding them against one another, and forced my chair back, digging my nails into my palm in the other hand.

"I just wanted to welcome you, sir." she said with a hesitant smile.

I took the opportunity to scan her. She looked far frailer than I remembered; her skin was a transculent, unearthly pallor, and her rosebud lips quivered worriedly. I could imagine reaching out and snapping her arm in half, a clean break; that was how small she seemed. She opened her eyes once more, and her green eyes blazed with light. They weren't emeralds; they were an ever-rippling sea of grass, framed with smoky lashes. If she had been a vampire, her fragile, china-like beauty would have been enhanced even more. Compared to Shanra, she was an ever-breakable rose, while Shanra was a ... coffee cup.

I stifled a snort of contempt, knowing all too well that I would inhale the deadly intoxicating scent once more. Joy caught onto it at once.

"It's good to see you settling in!" she smiled, "Our old teacher left due to fatigue."

Fatigue? I could understand why. This girl's never-ending presence was simply overwhelming ... frustrating ... _infuriating. _I longed for nothing more to lash out at her then and there with my tightly bunched muscles, cracking her neck, ripping her jaw from the bottom of her tiny face, cutting all of her luxurious tresses off and watching her bawl, making her crawl like a baby while I burnt her, drinking her friends' blood and then drinking hers, ever so slowly it hurt ... if that was possible ... I flinched away at the scent as I inhaled voluntarily.

"I can see why!" I snarled in a low tone at her, and Joy started back. Her arms clenched around her frame defensively, "do you have _nothing _better to do than talk your teacher to death? Or is that just fun for you?"

Joy had abandoned the tableside now, while Shanra dragged her back, her expression the true meaning of the phrase '_I told you so.' _Coffee-Cup pulled her friend towards the exit of the classroom, while Joy hung on doggedly. I could smell her confusion. It tasted so good with her sweet scent. I forced myself to clear my mind. And then, inspiration struck.

Teachers were always calling their students back for 'private conferences'. And, with my vampire-induced looks, there would be not a single student who would be able to refuse a 'private conference'. What was more, Joy had actually come and talked to me. I had stopped inhaling once more; it was pointless and irritating, and I needed space to concentrate. I slammed the door shut behind Shanra and Joy, just in time to feel Joy's confusion grow paramount. With the classroom empty, I closed my eyes, concentrating.

The scent of blood that lingered made my thoughts even more focused, even more intense. Without thinking, I paced to Joy's chair. Shanra's scent was like an irritating odor beside a single rose in full bloom, but I had swatted that annoying fly away; I could ignore her stench just as easily. I inhaled deeply, relishing the sweet taste of Joy's blood, the scent that was the strongest presence in the classroom. My gut feeling then and there was to follow her trail of confused emotions and flowery aroma.

I ignored it. I had a better, far more brilliant plan. I would call Joy – and maybe Shanra; for all my frustration at her brilliant, and yet, unattainable scent, I would torture Shanra. Burning, or maybe just the slow poison of spiteful words. I had seen my words at work on Joy's heart just a few moments ago. And then, when Joy could take no more of her friend's utter agony, she might sacrifice herself yet. No ...

No, that wasn't what I wanted. What _I _wanted was the pleasure of killing her myself. With audience, or without audience. _Sorry Carlisle, _I said silently, _but you know what 'vengeance' means. This is what I'm carrying out. _


End file.
